a 



IN THE HEIGHTS" 




Bp h. i&+ mntt. 



THE NEW DAY 

THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

LYRICS 

TWO WORLDS 

THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

THE ABOTI AI18O DT OIB YOLUTOt IXTITLtD 

FIVE BOOKS OF SONG 
IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS 
POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 
"IN THE HEIGHTS" 

ALSO SIUCCTIOIS ISTITLID 

FOR THE COUNTRY 
A CHRISTMAS WREATH 



"IN THE HEIGHTS" 



BY 



RICHARD WATSON GILDER 




NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 

1905 



"^(jRESS 



I - 



AUG 3! 1905 

JO. *Jtei ** 



T5 /y^ 

■it 

War 



Copyright, 1903, 1905, by The Century Co. 

Copyright, 1903, 1904, 1905, by Houghton, Mifflin and Company 

Copyright, 1904, by The Outlook Company 

Copyright, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons 

Copyright, 1905, by P. F. Collier and Son 

Copyright, 1905, by Richard Watson Gilder 
All rights reserved 

Published October, 1905 



THE DE VINNE PRESS 



CONTENTS 



"In the Heights" (John R. Procter) 

Home Acres 

A Call to the Mountains 

Spring Surprise 

Autumn Trees 

"The Light Lies on the Farther Hills" 

"Ah, Near, Dear Friend" 

Music in Darkness (Adele aus der Ohe) 

The Anger of Beethoven 

Mother and Child .... 

Alice Freeman Palmer .... 

"Mother of Heroes" (Sarah Blake Shaw) 

The Great Citizen (Abram Stevens Hewitt) . 

On Reading of a Poet's Death (Carlyle McKinley) 

John Henry Boner 

"A Wondrous Song" 

A New Poet 

v 



PAGE 

. 3 

7 
. 9 

12 
. 13 

14 
. 16 

18 
. 21 

22 
. 23 

24 
. 25 

27 
. 28 

29 
. 30 



VI CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Singer of Joy 33 

Bread upon the Waters 34 

Lost 36 

"What Man Hath Done" 37 

"He Pondered Well" 39 

"Thou Thinkest Thou Hast Lived" .... 40 

The Good Man 42 

"So Fierce the Buffets" 43 

Two Heroes 44 

The World's End 46 

Shelley's "Ozymandias" 47 

La Salle (Explorer of the Mississippi) .... 48 

Inauguration Day 49 

The Washington Monument (At Washington, D. C.) . 52 

Builders of the State 53 

Impromptus: 

To William Watson (On his Coronation Ode) . . 56 

" Life is the Hammer " (Sidney Lanier) . . 56 
"The Critic Scanned the Poet's Book" . . .57 

"Her Delicate Form" 57 

Francesca Mia 58 

Age, and the Scorner 58 

To Jacob A. Rus (On his Silver Wedding) ... 59 

Music and Friendship 60 



CONTENTS Vii 

PAGE 

Friendship (To ) 60 

To E. C. S. (On his Seventieth Birthday) . . 61 

"Tell Me Good-by" 61 

Farewell to Charleston 62 

"The Pines" 63 

"Not Wreaths Alone" 64 

For the City Club 65 

To Charles H. Russell (Whose Father was One of 

Lincoln's Helpers) 65 

"Give thy Day to Duty" 66 

Two Optimists (A Letter to Joseph Jefferson, Ac- 
knowledging a Copy of Helen Keller's Essay on 
"Optimism") . . . • . . . 66 

The Passing of Joseph Jefferson 69 

"Shall We not Praise the Living?". ... 72 
Hymn (Written for the Service in Memory of Dr. J. L. M. 
Curry, held by the Southern Education Conference, 
Richmond, Virginia, April 26, 1903) ... 77 
John Wesley (Written for the Celebration of the Two- 
Hundredth Anniversary of the Birth of John Wesley, 
at Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut, 

June, 1903) 79 

A Temple of Art (Written for the Opening of the Albright 

Art Gallery, Buffalo, May 31, 1905) . . . .86 
The White Tsar's People (Reprinted, with additional 

stanzas) 91 



IN THE HEIGHTS" 



"IN THE HEIGHTS" 



ONE who this valley passionately loved 
No more these slopes shall climb, nor hear 

these streams 
That like the murmured melody of dreams 

His happy spirit moved. 



II 

He knew the sudden and mysterious thrill 
That takes the heart of man on mountain 
heights, 
These autumn days that flame from hill to hill, 
These deep and starry nights. 
3 



"in the heights" 



III 



O vanished spirit! tell us, if so may be, 
Are our wild longings, stirred by scenes like 
this,— 

Our deep-breathed, shadowless felicity,— 
A mocking, empty bliss? 



IV 

No answering word, save from the inmost soul 
That cries: all things are real— beauty, youth; 

All the heart feels; of sorrow and joy the whole; 
That which but seems is truth. 



This mortal frame, that harbors the immortal, 
Mechanic though it be, in our life's fires 

Turns spiritual; it becomes the portal 
Wherethrough the soul aspires. 



VI 

The soul's existence in its human sheath 
Is life no more than is the spirit's life 

In this wide nature whose keen air we breathe; 
Whose strife arms us to strife. 



VII 

And they are wise who seek not to destroy 
The unreasoned happiness of the outpoured 
year. 
To him,— the lost,— this vale brought no false 
joy, 
And therefore is most dear. 



VIII 

Wherever in the majesty of space, 
Near or afar, but not from God afar, 

Where'er his spirit soars, whatever grace 
Is his, whatever star— 



IN THE HEIGHTS" 



IX 



The aspirations and imaginings 

That in these glorious paths his soul sub- 
limed, 
They are a part of him; they are the wings 

Whereby he strove and climbed. 



Nature to man not alien doth endure; 

Her spirit in his spirit is transfused; 
On this high mystery dream the humble-pure, 

The mightiest poets mused. 



XI 



The white clouds billow down the blowing sky, 
Then, O my heart, be lifted up, rejoice! 
The trumpet of the winds, to that wild voice 

Let all my soul reply! 



HOME ACRES 



A SENSE of pureness in the air, 

Of wholesome life in growing things ; 
Waving of blossom, blade, and wings; 

Perfume and beauty everywhere; 

Sky, trees, the grass, the very loam— 

I love them all; this is our home. 

II 

God ! make me worthy of thy land 
Which mine I call a little while; 
This meadow where the sunset's smile 
Falls like a blessing from thy hand, 
And where the river singing runs 
'Neath wintry skies and summer suns! 
7 



HOME ACRES 
III 

Million on million years have sped 

To frame green fields and bowering hills: 
The mortal for a moment tills 

His span of earth, then is he dead: 

This knows he well, yet doth he hold 

His paradise like miser's gold. 

IV 

I would be nobler than to clutch 
My little world with gloating grasp; 
Now, while I live, my hands unclasp, 

Or let me hold it not so much 

For my own joy as for the good 

Of all the gentle brotherhood. 



And as the seasons move in mirth 
Of bloom and bird, of snow and leaf, 
May my calm spirit rise from grief, 

In solace of the lovely earth; 

And though the land be dark or lit, 

Oh, let me gather songs from it. 



A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 



I called you once to the sea, 
Come now to the mountains; 

Climb the earth's ramparts with me, 
Drink her deep fountains! 



II 



On the food that you love make merry; 

Forget grind and grief 
In the red and the tang of the berry, 

The bronze of the leaf. 



Ill 



Chestnuts are ripe on the bough, 
And the burrs all are bursting; 

For a tramp with you, John, I vow! 
I am hungering and thirsting. 
9 



10 A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 



IV 



Come, John, or you '11 be to blame; 

The birds wait your biding. 
One of them, hearing your name, 

Flashed forth from its hiding;— 



See, it is searching for you— 
Its pretty head cocking; 

Pecking, and looking askew, 
On the bare bough rocking. 



VI 

And yonder a stray wing flitters; 

A great hawk soars; 
The lakelet gleams and glitters; 

The high wind roars. 



A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 11 



VII 

Nearer, from field and thicket, 

Come musical calls; 
The tinkling, clear note of the cricket, 

Chime of ripples and falls. 



VIII 

From the meadow far up to the height 

The leaves all are turning; 
By the time you have come to the sight 

The world will be blazing and burning. 



IX 

John of Birds, tarry not till 
The first wild snow-flurry; 

Voices of forest and hill 
Cry hurry, and hurry! 



SPRING SURPRISE 



Lo, now it comes once more; lo, my heart leaps 
again, 

Comes swift the dear surprise, not at the 
spring, alone, 

But, as a soul that knew, many a year agone, 

All the full bloom of love, since the gray 
ashes,— 
Feels all the glad surprise when the o'er- 
wearied heart 

Still knows the joy of life, as in the olden days; 

That love can thrill again;— so the spring calls 
once more 

With the old tenderness; till my heart trem- 
bles. 



12 



AUTUMN TREES 



BUT yesterday a world of haze, 
To-day, a glory of color and light! 

Like golden voices shouting praise 
The bright trees flame along the height. 



II 



Who would have thought, the summer 
through, 

Each separate tree of all the choir, 
Lifting its green against the blue, 

Held at its heart such flame and fire? 



13 



"THE LIGHT LIES ON THE 
FARTHER HILLS" 



THE clouds upon the mountains rest; 
A gloom is on the autumn day; 

But down the valley, in the west, 
The hidden sunlight breaks its way,- 
A light lies on the farther hills. 



II 

Forget thy sorrow, heart of mine! 

Though shadows fall and fades the leaf, 
Somewhere is joy, though 't is not thine; 

The power that sent can heal thy grief; 

And light lies on the farther hills. 

14 



"the light lies on the FARTHER HILLS" 15 



III 

Thou wouldst not with the world be one 
If ne'er thou knewest hurt and wrong; 

Take comfort, though the darkened sun 
Never again bring gleam or song,— 
The light lies on the farther hills. 



a 



AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND" 



Ah, near, dear friend of many and many 

years! 
I have known thy lovelinesses,— known thy 

tears, 
Thy smiles, like sunlight crossing shade, 
Thy spirit unafraid. 

II 

All these have been like music to my soul; 
These, having fashioned me, should I extol, 
It were, in sooth, myself to praise— 
O Light of all my days! 
16 



" AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND " 17 



III 

Thy smiles, thy tears, thy exquisite sad 

words,— 
Mystic as, in the moonlight, songs of birds,— 
But, oh, more wonderful than these, 
Thy lonely silences. 



MUSIC IN DARKNESS 



At the dim end of day 
I heard the great musician play: 
Saw her white hands now slow, now swiftly pass; 
Where gleamed the polished wood, as in a glass, 
The shadow hands repeating every motion. 
Then did I voyage forth on music's ocean, 
Visiting many a sad or joyful shore, 
Where storming breakers roar, 
Or singing birds made music so intense,— 
So intimate of happiness or sorrow,— 
I scarce could courage borrow 
To hear those strains : well-nigh I hurried thence 
To escape the intolerable weight 
That on my spirit fell when sobbed the music: 
late, too late, too late, 
18 



MUSIC IN DARKNESS 19 

While slow withdrew the light 

And, on the lyric tide, came in the night. 



II 

So grew the dark, enshrouding all the room 

In a melodious gloom, 

Her face growing viewless; line by line 

That swaying form did momently decline 

And was in darkness lost. 

Then white hands ghostly turned, though still 

they tost 
From tone to tone; pauseless and sure as if in 

perfect light; 
With blind, instinctive, most miraculous sight, 
On, on they sounded in that world of night. 

Ill 

Ah, dearest one; was this thy thought, as mine, 
As still the music stayed? 
• So shall the loved ones fade, — 
Feature by feature, line on lovely line; 
For all our love, alas, 
From twilight into darkness shall they pass! 



20 MUSIC IN DAKKNESS 

We in that dark shall see them never more, 
But from our spirits they shall not be ban- 
ished,— 
For on and on shall the sweet music pour 
That was the soul of them, the loved, the van- 
ished; 
And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite 
In that mysterious night." 



THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN 

This night the enchanting musicians rendered 
a trio of Beethoven,— 

Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan 
tower 

The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and 
the deep-cut windows 

Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four- 
square world,— 

When sudden the music turned to anger, as 
nature's murmur 

Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice 
infuriate, 

Cruel, quick, implacable; inhuman, savage, re- 
sistless,— 

And I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging 
back in scorn tempestuous 

And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous 
arrows of fortune. 



21 



MOTHER AND CHILD 

MOTHER and Child! There is no holier sight 
In all the realms of morning and of night; 
And all the meaning of that word, Divine, 
Shines in the tender glory of this sign. 
The world learns Worship here; it kneels in 

awe, 
Seeing a mystery, knowing a mighty law. 
Sin cannot live in presence of this grace, 
No least imworthiness perplex the place. 
Here Good doth dwell, but never baneful 

Doubt, 
For Love and Loveliness would cast it out. 
Were prophet voices still, the heavens brass, 
Here would a new Evangel come to pass; 
Out from the dark a rose-leaf hand would leap, 
Close to the Eternal Throne the ancient world 

to keep. 



22 



ALICE FREEMAN PALMER 

When fell, to-day, the word that she had gone, 
Not this my thought: Here a bright journey 

ends, 
Here rests a soul unresting; here, at last, 
Here ends that earnest strength, that gener- 
ous life— 
For all her life was giving. Rather this 
I said (after the first swift, sorrowing pang): 
Hence, on a new quest, starts an eager spirit— 
No dread, no doubt, unhesitating forth 
With asking eyes; pure as the bodiless souls 
Whom poets vision near the central throne 
Angelically ministrant to man; 
So fares she forth with smiling, Godward face; 
Nor should we grieve, but give eternal thanks— 
Save that we mortal are, and needs must 
mourn. 



23 



"MOTHER OF HEROES " 

SARAH BLAKE SHAW 

MOTHER of heroes, she,— of them who gave 
Their lives to lift the lowly, free the slave. 
Her, through long years, two master passions 

bound: 
Love of our free land; and of all sweet sound. 
'T was praising her to praise this land of grace; 
And when I think on music— lo, her face! 



24 



THE GREAT CITIZEN 

ABRAM STEVENS HEWITT 



MOURN for his death, but for his life rejoice, 
Who was the city's heart, the city's voice. 



II 



Dauntless in youth, impetuous in age, 
Weighty in speech, in civic counsel sage; 



III 

Talents and wealth to him were but a trust 
To lift his hapless brother from the dust,— 
25 



26 THE GREAT CITIZEN 



IV 

This his chief aim: to wake, in every man, 
The soul to do what only courage can. 



He saw the evil, as the wise must see, 

But firm his faith in what the world shall be. 



VI 

Following the truth, he led his fellow-men,— 
Through years and virtues the great citizen! 

VII 

By being great, he made the city great,— 
Serving the city, he upheld the state. 

VIII 

So shall the city win a purer fame 
Led by the living splendor of his name. 



ON READING OF A POET'S 
DEATH 



I READ that, in his sleep, the poet died 

Ere the day broke; 
In a new dawn, as rose earth's crimson tide, 

His spirit woke. 

II 

Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed: 

On the same page 
That told his end, his living verse I read,— 

His lyric rage. 

Ill 

Behold! I thought, they call him cold in death, 

But hither turn,— 
See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath, 

Doth pulse and burn! 

27 



28 ON READING OF A POET'S DEATH 

IV 

This is the poet's triumph, his high doom! 

After life's stress, 
For him the silent, dark, o'er-shadowing tomb 

Is shadowless. 



And this the miracle, the mystery: 
In that he gives 

His soul away, magnificently free— 
By this he lives. 



JOHN HENRY BONER 

IN life's hard fight this poet did his part; 
He was a hero of the mind and heart. 
Now rests his body 'neath his own loved skies, 
And from his tomb Courage! his spirit cries. 



"A WONDROUS SONG" 

A WONDROUS SOng, 

Rank with sea smells and the keen lust of life; 

Echoing with battle trumpets, and the moan 

Of dying men in reeking hospitals; 

Thrilling all through with human pity and love 

And crying courage in the face of doom;— 

With all its love of life still praising death 

Enchantingly, as death was never praised; 

And with high anger and a god-like scorn 

Passionately proclaiming life in death 

And the unquenched, immortal soul of man,— 

A wondrous song, 

Trembling with unshed tears and life's full joy, 

Burst the tense meshes of the critic's web 

And sang itself into eternal day. 



29 



A NEW POET 



Friends, beware! 

Stop babbling! Hark, a sound is in the air! 
Above the pretty songs of schools 
(Not of music made, but rules), 
Above the panic rush for gold 
And emptinesses manifold, 
And selling of the soul for phantom fame, 
And reek of praises where there should be 
blame; 

Over the dust and muck, 
The buzz and roar of wheels, 
Another music steals,— 
A right, true note is struck. 
30 



A NEW POET 31 



II 



Friends, beware! 

A sound of singing in the air! 

The love-song of a man who loves his fellow- 
men; 

Mother-love and country-love, and the love of 
sea and fen; 

Lovely thoughts and mighty thoughts and 
thoughts that linger long; 

There has come to the old world's singing the 
thrill of a brave new song. 



Ill 



They said there were no more singers, 

But listen!— a master voice! 

A voice of the true joy-bringers! 

Now will ye heed and rejoice 

Or pass on the other side, 

And wait till the singer has died, 



32 A NEW POET 

Then weep o'er his voiceless clay? 
Friends, beware! 

A keen, new sound is in the air,— 
Know ye a poet's coming is the old world's 
judgment day! 



THE SINGER OF JOY 

He sang the rose, he praised its fragrant 

breath; 
(Alas, he saw the gnawing worm beneath.) 
He sang of summer and the flowing grass; 
(He knew that all the beauty quick would pass.) 
He said the world was good and skies were fair; 
(He saw far, gathering clouds, and days of care.) 
Immortally he sang pure friendship's flame; 
(Yet had he seen it shrivel to a name.) 
And, ah, he praised true love, with golden 

speech; 
(What though it was a star he could not reach.) 
His songs in every soul the hero woke; 
(He in the shadows waited the last stroke.) 
He was the singer of the joyous art; 
(Down to the grave he bore a broken heart.) 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS 

A MELANCHOLY, life o'er-wearied man 

Sat in his lonely room, and, with slow breath, 

Counted his losses: thrice-wrecked plan on 

plan, 
Failure of friend, and hope, and heart, and 

faith— 
This last the deadliest, and holding all. 
Help was there none through weeping, for the 

years 
Had stolen all his treasury of tears. 
Then on a page where his eyes chanced to fall 
There sprang such words of courage that they 

seemed 
Cries on a battle-field, or as one dreamed 
Of trumpets sounding charges; on he read 
With fixed gaze, and sad, down-drooping head, 
34 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS 35 

And curious, half -remembering, musing mind. 
The ringing of that voice had something 

stirred 
In his deep heart, like music long since heard. 
"Brave words," he sighed; and looked where 

they were signed; 
There, reading his own name, tears made him 

blind. 



LOST 

AN old, blind poet, sitting sad and lone, 
Thinking his scribe was near, chimed slowly 

forth 
Into the empty and unheeding air 
A song, of all his songs the loveliest. 
That night he died, and the sweet song was 

lost. 

A million roses and uncounted worlds 
Unknown, save to their Maker, strew the flood 
Of endless and immeasurable time. 



"WHAT MAN HATH DONE" 

THUS did he speak, thus was he comforted: 
"I yet shall learn to live ere I am dead; 
I shall be firm of will, know false from true: 
Each error will but show me how to do, 
When next the occasion calls. I shall pursue 
The path that grim experience has taught." 
This was his solace, this his saving thought. 
Then came a sudden knocking at the door. 
He rose— and did what he had done before: 
He looked into the dark, he flinched, he 

quailed; 
The occasion came, and once again he failed. 



Thus wrote a man who had seen much of 
men: 
" What man hath done, that will he do again." 



37 



38 "WHAT MAN HATH DONE" 

Yet are there souls who, having clinched 

with fate, 
Have learned to live, ere it was all too late. 
Be it thy hope, though seven times a fool, 
To get some lessons in life's fearful school. 



"HE PONDERED WELL" 

He pondered well, looked in his heart, 
And bravely did his part. 
Then spake the Ironic Powers 
That rule the prostrate hours: 
'' Look now on this your deed ;— 
Despite your heroic creed, 
Your pondering and your prayers, 
Behold how ill the pretty project fares! 
Not hotly were you driven; 
For thought and thought the days were 

seven; 
All was wisdom, all was cool,— 
And now one name you to yourself have 

given: 
'T is fool, fool, fool, and only fool ! " 



Hast thou kept honor, and sweet courtesy 

kept, 
Then is no loss that may be wailed or 

wept. 

39 



"THOU THINKEST THOU 
HAST LIVED" 

THOU thinkest thou hast lived 

If fortune fair hath touched thee with its 

wand, 
If thou hast known, but once, the top of life 
In giving royally, in truly loving, 
In braving some great deed in sight of men, 
Or issuing victorious from strife. 
Not so; nor hast of life the flower and height 
In suffering that others may go free. 
For thee the sequent years still proudly hold 
A keener sense of the deep life that is, 
When thou, brave novice, shalt endure the 

lore 
Of fate's immeasurable ironies. 
40 



"THOU THINKEST THOU HAST LIVED" 41 

Thou may'st behold the scorn of thee and 

thine 
Sit on the laureled brow of him thy hand 
Helped to that heaven; yes, thou may'st see 
Success, in them thou gavest strength to rise, 
Used for thine own disfigurement and loss; 
May'st know betrayal and forgetfulness, 
And knowing shalt thy spirit hold in calm; 
Pitying the arrogant, the meanly vain, 
Unbitterly, and with no cloying hate, 
Disdain, nor envy; comforted and blest 
With the high thought of knowledge, worthily 

gained, 
And the humility which makes men wise, 
And the uncensured pride of purity. 



THE GOOD MAN 

WHAT do you know of me, my gentlest one! 
You who have watched my life from day to 

day 
Through half a lifetime! Who have seen, in- 
deed, 
My comings and my goings; my dull years 
In sunshine and in shade; in getting bread; 
Gathering a little gold, a little fame, 
A thousand nothings. What, I say, know you 
Of my deep, inward, real, wonderful life? 
My wild emprises, foolishnesses, fears, 
Failures, and shames, and all but acted crimes; 
My half-mad waking dreams, oh, yes, stark 

mad; 
My spiritual comedies, my glooms,— 
Unutterable, intense, and without hope; 
42 



"SO FIERCE THE BUFFETS" 43 

My secret, true, and unpraised heroisms; 
My tragedies,— played on the bare soul's stage, 
With no eye witnessing but mine, alone,— 
Great God! not thine, I pray, not thine, not 
thine! 



"SO FIERCE THE BUFFETS" 

So fierce the buffets of untimely fate 
He bowed his youthful head in mortal pain, 
And cried: "Alas, my happy life is slain!" 
Then came true sorrow, and he knew, too late, 
His early woe was but a feather's weight. 



TWO HEROES 



Two heroes do the world's insistent work: 
One rushes in the battle's blood and murk, 
And, knowing the foeman flies, 
In one rich moment dies. 



II 



The other, on a path he long has feared, 
By bugle blast and drum-beat all uncheered, 
At duty's chill behest 
Gives life to want and waste. 



Ill 



For him, the battle hero, high we pile 
The sculptured stone; his ringing name, the 
while, 
In praises and in songs 
Its lyric life prolongs. 
44 



TWO HEROES 45 



IV 



For the other, we fashion a heaven of late 
reward; 

His life, all dark, and desolate, and hard, 
Down to oblivion goes,— 
Unless some great God knows! 



THE WORLD'S END 

ONCE wandering far in Asia, lo, we came 
Unto a valley falling toward the east; 
Naked its sides as if a spreading flame 
Had swept all bare; devouring, in mad 
feast, 
Forest and herb, all beasts and singing choirs. 
With ardent colors were the vast hills 

strewn, 
Glowing like unquenched embers of great 

fires; 
Then sank the red sun, rose immense the 
moon. 
So builded were those walls, so leaned the 
earth,— 
With slow, unnatural, and awful trend,— 
It seemed, at last, in this strange land of 

dearth, 
Even just beyond, the solid world had 
end,— 
And, moving on, our vision might take flight 
Into that pit whence issue day and night. 
46 



SHELLEY'S "OZYMANDIAS" 

This timeless river— oldest of all time— 
These desolate mountains, deserts stretching 

vast; 
These pyramids and temples; this domain 
Of tombs; and empty shadows of the dead, 
And mockery of old fame, here day and night 
I wander— not alone— nor with sad heart: 
One line of Shelley singing in my soul. 



47 



LA SALLE 

EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI 

BATTLING through trackless lands, 'gainst 

savage foes; 
Striving, enduring, knowing the bitterness 
Of foul betrayal, still in front he goes; 
Onward through swamp and forest see him 

press, 
Proud, silent, suffering, misunderstood; 
The weight he bore, it seemed that no man 

could; 
Then at the last, when the infernal stroke 
Fell, 't was as if the silent leader spoke: 
"This river I first traced to the far sea— 
If monument I need, this let it be; 
Then shall I live with the chief sons of time. 
This is the path of empire: onward to empire 

climb!" 



48 



INAUGURATION DAY 



ON this great day a child of time and fate 
On a new path of power doth stand and wait. 



II 

Though heavy-burdened shall his heart re- 
joice, 

Dowered with a nation's faith, an empire's 
choice. 

Ill 

Who hath no strength, but that the people 

give, 
And in their wills, alone, his will doth live. 

4 49 



50 INAUGURATION DAY 

IV 

On this one day, this, this, is their one man,— 
The well-beloved, the chief American! 



Whose people are his brothers, fathers, sons: 
In this his strength, and not a million guns. 

VI 

Whose power is mightier than the mightiest 

crown, 
Because that soon he lays that power down. 

VII 

Whose wish, linked to the people's, shall ex- 
ceed 
The force of civic wrong and banded greed. 

VIII 

Whose voice, in friendship or in warning 

heard, 
Brings to the nations a free people's word; 



INAUGURATION DAY 51 

IX 

And, where the oppressed out from the dark- 
ness grope, 
'T is as the voice of freedom and of hope. 



pray that he may rightly rule the State, 
And grow, in truly serving, truly great. 



THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT 

AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 

Straight soars to heaven the white magnifi- 
cence,— 
Free as man's thought, high as one lonely- 
name;— 
True image of his soul,— serene, immense,— 
Mightiest of monuments and mightiest 
fame. 



52 



BUILDERS OF THE STATE 



WHO builds the state? Not he whose power 
Rocted in wrong, in gold intrenched, 

Makes him the regent of the hour; 
The eternal light can not be quenched: 

II 

This shall outlive his little span; 

Shine fierce upon each tainted scheme; 
Shall show where shame blots all the plan; 

The treachery in the dazzling dream. 

Ill 

He builds the state who builds on truth,— 
Not he who, crushing toward his aim, 

Strikes conscience from the throne, and ruth, 
To win a dark unpiteous fame. 
53 



54 BUILDERS OF THE STATE 



IV 



Not he, though master among mem- 
Empire and ages all his thought,— 

Though like an eagle be his ken: 

Down to the ground shall all be brought. 



For this I hold, and shall for aye,— 

Till Heaven sends death,— that they who 
sow 

Hate, and the blood of brothers, they 
Shall harvest hate and want and woe,— 



VI 

The curse of Earth's dread agonies 
Whereto they added, in their hour, 

And all the unheeded tears and cries 
They caused in lust of lawless power. 



BUILDERS OF THE STATE 55 



VII 

He builds the state who to that task 
Brings strong, clean hands, and purpose 
pure; 

Who wears not virtue as a mask; 

He builds the state that shall endure,— 



VIII 

The state wherein each loyal son 
Holds as a birthright from true sires 

Treasures of honor, nobly won, 
And freedom's never-dying fires. 



IMPROMPTUS 
To William Watson 

ON HIS CORONATION ODE 

(These lines were first published on the day the King was to have 
been crowned.) 

IN this high ode with its great shadow-kings, 
More real than real things; 

In this proud pageant of imperial verse 
That nobly doth rehearse 

England's true glories, for the world to read, 
The King is crowned indeed! 



"Life is the Hammer" 

(SIDNEY LANIER) 

I 

Life is the hammer that strikes 
From the bell of the poet's heart 
Art. 

56 



IMPROMPTUS 57 



II 



And whether he lives or dies 
The music in widening rings 
Sings. 



"The Critic Scanned the Poet's Book" 

The critic scanned the poet's book 
And ranged it calmly in its place;— 
A soul that felt its music shook 
As if a bolt struck down through space; 
And in that soul, like flower from seed, 
The music turned to lofty deed 
That sanctified a race. 



"Her Delicate Form" 

Her delicate form, her night of hair, 

Took me, unaware. 
They called her poet, and the word 

Strangely I heard; 
For that I thought: Can she 
A poem write, and be? 



58 impromptus 

Francesca Mia 

No verses I can bring her, 
No song that I can sing her, 
Can be so sweet, by half, 
As the music of her laugh, 
As the murmur of her voice, 
As the sound of her violin. 
These make my heart rejoice, 
These me to heaven can win. 
But something in her face,— 
Sad, wild, and full of grace,— 
A look in those dark eyes 
That dream, and flash, and dance, 
And with soft shadows fill,— 
These bring one long-loved glance, 
Tender, and deep, and wise,— 
Then doth my heart stand still. 



Age, and the Scorner 

As I hobble, old and halt, 

Daily —nightly — 

By you,— hectoring on the corner,— 

I know you for a graybeard scorner, 



IMPROMPTUS 59 

Though you raise your hat politely:— 

I know you hold it for a fault 

That I bend with burdening years, 

Dull of eye, and dull of ears; 

That this poll 

Whitens like a flax-wigged doll. 

'T is a fault, you think; but wait! 

Something marches, men call Fate; 

If you, boy! succeed in keeping 

Safe from sweep of Old Time's reaping 

You HI be the bent-back one that hobbles 

Over the cobbles— 

Wondering why, all young at heart, 

With the old you 're pushed apart. 



To Jacob A. Rus 

ON HIS SILVER WEDDING 

Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be 

bringing, 
Straight to your heart to-day, a silver ringing 
From those you 've blest, the heavy hearts 

and sore; — 
Hark the sweet sound from here to Elsinore! 



60 IMPROMPTUS 

Music and Friendship 

Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word 
And lovely tone by kindred hearts are heard; 
So when I hear true music. Heaven send, 
To share that heavenly joy, one dear, dear 
friend ! 



Friendship 
to 



FROM the happy first time 
That we met— and wondered, 

I from thee and thou from me 
Ne'er in soul were sundered. 



II 



No regret, no blaming; 

Absence has not shaken: 
Far apart, still close in heart; 

Undoubting, unforsaken. 



IMPROMPTUS 61 

III 

As the circle narrows 

We draw near and nearer; 

So, old friend ! as comes the end 
Thou art dearer, dearer. 

TO E. C. S. 

ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY 

His life was generous as his life was long,— 
Pilled to the brim with friendship and with 
song. 

"Tell Me Good-by" 



Dark Southern girl— the dream-like day has 
past, 
The harbor light burns red against the sky; 
In the high blue, star follows star full fast; 
The ship that takes me northward loometh 
nigh; 
"Tell me good-by!" 



62 IMPROMPTUS 



II 



Good-by to the red rose that is your mouth, 

The tender violets that are your sigh; 
The sweetness that you are,— that is my 
South,— 

Ah, not too soon, Enchantress, do I fly!— 
"Tell me good-by." 

Ill 

"Tell me good-by," but not too sweetly tell 
Lest all too hard the going,— lest I cry 

"Never, no never!" though the parting bell 
Ring madly in the night;— not then could I 
Tell you good-by. 

Farewell to Charleston 

Enchanted city, O farewell, farewell! 

If farewell it can be 

When here, 'twixt the dark pines and sunrise sea, 

Our hearts remain, 

While fare our bodies to the North again! 

Here stay our hearts amid these mansions 

stately, 
These oaks, forever green, that guard sedately 



IMPROMPTUS 63 

The living and the dead— 

Thrilled through with song that hath inter- 
preted 

The beauty and the gladness of the day. 

Oh, yes, our hearts remain; they must forever 
stay 

'Midst happy gardens, unforgettable, 

And where St. Michael's chimes 

The fragrant hours exquisitely tell, 

Making the world one loveliness, like a true 
poet's rhymes. 



"The Pines" 

These are the sounds that I heard at the 

home in "The Pines"— 
The frightened cry of the yellowthroat hid in 

the trees; 
The chipmunk's rustling tread on the autumn 

leaves 
That fringe with brown the green of the wave 

and the wood; 
The purr of the quick canoe where it curves 

the wave 



64 IMPROMPTUS 

And the liquid push of the oar;— the voice of 

the wind 
Now far, now near, as it sighs through the 

swaying boughs,— 
Through the boughs that sway with a slow 

and wave-like motion 
Like growths of the sea that swing in the 

moving waters;— 
The voice of the wind I heard, now near, now 

far;— 
Voice of the grieving world that murmurs 

and calls 
And wakes in the spirit of man an answering 

cry. 

"Not Wreaths Alone" 

Not wreaths alone, for him who wins the 
fight 
'Twixt public Wrong and Right;— 
The heavy burden of the people's cares 

The civic conqueror bears. 
So to the chief, on this victorious night, 
Pledge hands and hearts and heaven-climbing 
prayers. 



IMPROMPTUS 65 

For the City Club 

In Love of City here we take our stand:— 
Love of the City is no narrow love; 

Who loves it not he cannot love his land 
With love that shall protect, exalt, endure. 

Here are our homes, our hearts; great God 
above! 

The City shall be noble, shall be pure. 

To C. H. Russell 

WHOSE FATHER WAS ONE OF LINCOLN'S HELPERS 

I GIVE this token to the son of him 
That was a type of those brave, prescient souls 
Who when dire trouble fell upon the land 
From the beginning saw the fateful end, 
Bending strong backs to the tremendous 

strain. 
Higher than knighthood's honor lives your 

line 
For that the mighty Lincoln hurriedly called 
To your true sire, in a perilous hour, 
And got true answer— succor swift, complete. 



66 IMPROMPTUS 

On such as he the patient President, 
The tender elder brother of us all, 
The sad, wise leader leaned, and not in vain. 
Therefore the nation lives— therefore shall live, 
Inheriting the spirit of great days. 



"Give thy Day to Duty" 

Give thy day to Duty! 

To that high thought be given 

Thine every hour. 

So shall the bending heaven,— 

As from the root the flower,— 

Bring to thy glad soul Beauty. 



Two Optimists 

(A LETTER TO JOSEPH JEFFERSON, ACKNOWLEDGING A 
COPY OF HELEN KELLER'S ESSAY ON "OPTIMISM") 

To send fit thanks, I would I had the art, 
For this small book that holds a mighty heart 
Enshrining, as it does, brave Helen's creed. 
In thought and word; in many a lovely deed; 



IMPROMPTUS 67 

In facing what would crush a lesser soul, 
Making of barriers helps to reach the goal; 
In sympathy with all; in human kindness 
To the blind of heart (dear girl! not this her 

blindness!), 
As well as to her brethren of the dark 
And silent world, who through her see and 

hark; 
In bringing out of darkness a great light, 
Which burns and beacons high in all men's 

sight, 
That exquisite spirit is true optimist! 

Yet there are other names in the bright list: 
If faith in man and woman that still lasts, 
Though chilled by seventy winters' bitter 

blasts; 
If seeing, as you see, the good in evil, 
And even something Christian in the devil; 
If power to take misfortune as a friend 
And to be cheerful to the darkening end; 
Not to be spoiled by praise, nor deeply stung 
By the detractor's sharp and envious tongue; 
If living in fairy-land as really now 
As when heaven's dew was fresh on child- 
hood's brow; 



68 IMPROMPTUS 

If seeing, in fine, this world as through a prism 
Of lovely colors be true optimism, 
Then Jefferson is true optimist no less, 
And Heaven sent both this troubled world to 
bless. 



THE PASSING OF JOSEPH 
JEFFERSON 

SOME element from nature seems withdrawn, 
The world we lived in being of his spirit 

wrought,— 
His brightness, sweetness, tender gaiety, 
His childlike, wistful, and half -humorous faith 
That turned this harsh earth into fairy-land. 
He made our world, and now our world is 

changed. 

The sunniest nature his that ever breathed; 
Most lovable of all the sons of men; 
Who built his joy on making others happy; 
Like Jesus, lover of the hills and shores, 
And like him to the beasts and flowers kin, 
And with a brother's love for all mankind, 
But chiefly for the loving— though the lost. 
In his own art,— ineffable, serene, 
69 



70 THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 

And mystical (not less to nature true 
And to the heart of man),— his was the power 
To shed a light of love on human waifs 
And folk of simple soul. Where'er he went, 
Sweet childhood followed and all childlike 

hearts. 
His very presence made a holiday— 
Affectionate laughter and quick, unsad tears. 



Now, he being gone, the sun shines not so 
bright 
And every shadow darkens. 

Kind Heaven forbid 
Our lives should lack forever what he gave,— 
Prove mirage-haunted, every good unreal! 
Let the brave cheer of life we had through him 
Return, reflected from his joyous soul 
That cannot all be lost, where'er it hides,— 
Hides, but is quenched not,— haply smiling still 
Near where his well-loved Shakspere smiling 

sits, 
Whose birthday for his own new birth he took 
Into the unseen world, to him not far 
But radiant with the same mysterious light 



THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 71 

That filled his noontime with the twilight 

dream. 
And it was Easter, too,— the golden day 
Of resurrection, and man's dauntless hope. 

Into the unseen he passed, willing and glad, 
And humbly proud of a great nation's love; 
In honored age, with heart untouched by years 
Save to grow sweeter, and more dear, more 

dear,— 
Into that world whereon, so oft, he mused; 
Where he forgets not this, nor shall we him,— 
That magic smile, that most pathetic voice, 
That starry glance, that rare and faithful soul. 



From dream to dream he passed on Shak- 
spere's day— 
So dedicate his mind to pleasant thought, 
So deep his fealty to that great shade; 
He being, like him of Avon, a fairy child, 
High-born of miracle and mystery, 
Of wonder, and of wisdom, and of mirth. 



SHALL WE NOT PRAISE 
THE LIVING?" 



Ungenerous! 
Shall we not praise the living as the dead? 
And I, who lately sang a beautiful spirit fled, 
Shall I not praise a living spirit we know, 
Dear heart! we know full well,— 
And long have known, in utmost joy and woe; 
In our own sorrows, and delights; 
Her days of brightness and lone-weeping 

nights! 
If she should die,— alas the day! how swift 

this verse would tell 
Our anguish, our large loss,— irreparable,— 
In a wild passion of praise 
For her dear virtues, her sweet friendship's 

ways, 

72 



"shall we not praise the living? " 73 

That many know; but only a sacred few 
Know, as to the evening hour is known the 

dew, 
As the still dawn knows the great, melting 

stars, 
As night is intimate to those who love, 
As sorrow's voice is known to the mourning 

dove, 
As memoried twilight holds the sunset's 

crimson bars. 



II 

Shall we not praise the loveliness 

God gave her, and the true heart that cannot 
help but bless? 

For she is not of those 

Who virtues wear like graceful draperies, — 

But breathes them as her life. Where'er she 
goes 

Go pleasure and pure thoughts,— and base- 
ness dies. 

A holy ministry her life is— even without 
intent; 

For, though she worships duty, 



74 "shall we not praise the living?" 

Such elements in her are exquisitely blent 
She cannot but be kind; 
A spiritual radiance in her beauty 
Makes itself inly felt, even by the blind. 
Ah, thou and I,— dear soul! we know 
How the rich courtesy that touched full many 

a heart 
Is no mere learnt and gracious art; 
For when, to those she loved, keen trouble 

came, 
How leaped her spirit, like a flame; 
How quick, sure, self -forgetting, beyond 

thought, 
The angelic succor that brave spirit brought! 



Ill 

How may I fitly name them all— 
The graces, gentlenesses, benedicities, 
That in a white processional 
Move before these musing eyes; 
Nor would I shame 

That proud humility which is the crown and 
chief 



"shall we not praise the LIVING?" 75 

Of all the virtues that make up her golden 
sheaf; 

Though should I name each separate good- 
ness, clearly, that is her very own, 

To her calm eyes, alone, 

The authentic picture would be never 
known,— 

The portrait of another it would seem; 

And should one say, "This, this indeed is you!" 
" No," she would cry, " 't is but a poet's dream, 

And, save as a dream, it cannot all be true!" 



IV 

This then the dream: Large, innocent eyes, 
Lit with life's romance and surprise, 
And with a child's strange wisdom wise. 

A child in nature, eager, gay, 
And, yet, in all a woman's way 
Wifely and motherly her day. 

Curious, but constant; slow to wrath, 
Yet nobly scornful; pride she hath 
That sheds a splendor on her path. 

She breathes a heaven-born sympathy; 



76 "shall we not praise the living?" 

For her there is no low nor high; 
Goodness is honor in her eye: 

So, in the throng, each separate one 
Deems her glad welcome his alone, 
As if some special grace were shown. 

The great world, seeing her afar, 
Claims her, and names her for a star; 
But, among nearer watchers, are 

Some who a sacred tale could tell 
How those bright beams, ineffable, 
On one great hero- spirit fell. 



Shall we not praise the living? 

Too soon the living pass 

Like images on the unremembering glass, 

Scarce even a breath's length! shall we not 

thanksgiving 
Upraise, or e'er the everlasting sleep 
Hath dulled the ear?— that slumber deep 
Whereof we know so little, however we may 

hope,— 
Mortals who see a closing door, and never see 

it ope. 



HYMN 



WRITTEN FOR THE SERVICE IN MEMORY OF DR. J. L. M. 
CURRY, HELD BY THE SOUTHERN EDUCATION CON- 
FERENCE, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, APRIL 26, 1903 



GOD of the strong, God of the weak, 
Lord of all lands, and our own land; 

Light of all souls, from thee we seek 
Light from thy light, strength from 
thy hand. 

II 

In suffering thou hast made us one, 
In mighty burdens one are we; 

Teach us that lowliest duty done 
Is highest service unto thee. 

77 



78 HYMN 



III 



Teach us, Great Teacher of mankind, 
The sacrifice that brings thy balm; 

The love, the work that bless and bind; 
Teach us thy majesty, thy calm. 

IV 

Teach thou, and we shall know, indeed, 
The truth divine that maketh free; 

And knowing, we may sow the seed 
That blossoms through eternity;— 



May sow in every living heart 
That to the waiting day doth ope. 

Not ours, O God! the craven part, 
To shut one human soul from hope. 

VI 

Now, in the memory of thy Saint, 
To whom thy little ones were dear, 

Help us to toil and not to faint, 
Till earth grows dark and heaven 
comes near. 



JOHN WESLEY 



WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE TWO-HUN- 
DREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF 
JOHN WESLEY, AT WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY, 
MIDDLETOWN, CONNECTICUT, JUNE, 1903 



IN those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold 
The very soul that over England flamed! 
Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill; 
Convicting men of sin; making faith live; 
And,— this the mightiest miracle of all,— 
Creating God again in human hearts. 

What courage of the flesh and of the spirit! 
How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve ! 
What wisdom his to know the boundless 

might 
Of banded effort in a world like ours! 
79 



80 JOHN WESLEY 

How meek, how self -forgetful, courteous, 

calm!— 
A silent figure when men idly raged 
In murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm,— 
Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent, 
When spiritual lightnings struck men down 
And brought, by violence, the sense of sin, 
And violently oped the gates of peace. 

O hear that voice, which rang from dawn 
to night, 
In church and abbey whose most ancient walls 
Not for a thousand years such accents knew! 
On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea; 
'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields; 
'Mid clamor, vile attack,— or deep-awed hush, 
Wherein celestial visitants drew near 
And secret ministered to troubled souls! 

Hear ye, hear! that ceaseless-pleading 

voice, 
Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could 

still— 
Chief prophet-voice through nigh a century's 

span ! 



JOHN WESLEY 81 

Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns, 
Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment- 
trump, 
And ever with a sound like that of old 
Which, in the desert, shook the wandering 

tribes, 
Or, round about storied Jerusalem, 
Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spake 
The words of life. 

Let not that image fade 
Ever, God! from out the minds of men, 
Of him thy messenger and stainless priest, 
In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time, 
Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven; 
In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme,— 
Driven on forever, back and forth the world, 
By that divine, omnipotent desire— 
The hunger and the passion for men's souls! 

Ah, how he loved Christ's poor! No narrow 

thought 
Dishumaned any soul from his emprise; 
But his the prayer sincere that Heaven might 

send 



82 JOHN WESLEY 

Him chiefly to the humble; he would be, 
Even as the Galilean, dedicate 
Unto the ministry of lowliness: 
That boon did Heaven mercifully grant; 
And gladly was he heard; and rich the fruit; 
While still the harvest ripens round the earth; 
And many own the name once given in scorn; 
And all revere the holy life he led, 
Praise what he did for England, and the 

world, 
And call that greatness which was once re- 
proach. 
Would we were worthy for his praise. 

Dear God! 
Thy servant never knew one selfish hour! 
How are we shamed, who look upon a world 
Ages afar from that true kingdom preached 
Millenniums ago in Palestine! 

Send us, again, O Spirit of all Truth! 
High messengers of dauntless faith and power 
Like him whose memory this day we praise, 
We cherish and we praise with burning hearts. 
Let kindle, as before, from his bright torch, 
Myriads of messengers aflame with thee 
To darkest places bearing light divine! 



JOHN WESLEY 83 

II 

As did one soul, whom here I fain would sing, 
For here in youth his gentle spirit took 
New fire from Wesley's glow. 

How oft have I, 
A little child, harkened my father's voice 
Preaching the Word in country homes remote, 
Or wayside schools, where only two or three 
Were gathered. Lo, again that voice I hear, 
Like Wesley's, raised in those sweet, fervent 

hymns 
Made sacred by how many saints of God 
Who breathed their souls out on the well- 
loved tones. 
Again I see those circling, eager faces; 
I hear once more the solemn-urging words 
That tell the things of God in simple phrase; 
Again the deep-voiced, reverent prayer 

ascends, 
Bringing to the still summer afternoon 
A sense of the eternal. As he preached 
He lived; unselfish, famelessly heroic. 
For even in mid-career, with life still full, 
His was the glorious privilege and choice 



84 JOHN WESLEY 

Deliberately to give that life away 

In succor of the suffering; for he knew 

No rule but duty, no reward but Christ. 



Ill 

Increase thy prophets, Lord! give strength 

to smite 
Shame to the heart of luxury and sloth! 
Give them the yearning after human souls 
That burned in Wesley's breast! Through 

them, great God! 
Teach poverty it may be rich in thee; 
Teach riches the true wealth of thine own 

spirit. 
To our loved land, Celestial Purity! 
Bring back the meaning of those ancient 

words,— 
Not lost but soiled, and darkly disesteemed,— 
The ever sacred names of husband, wife, 
And the great name of Love,— whereon is 

built 
The temple of human happiness and hope! 
Baptize with holy wrath thy prophets, Lord! 
By them purge from us this corruption foul 



JOHN WESLEY 85 

That seizes on our civic governments, 
Crowns the corrupter in the sight of men, 
And makes him maker of laws, and honor's 
source ! 

Help us, in memory of the sainted dead, 
Help us, O Heaven! to frame a nohler state, 
In nobler lives rededicate to thee:— 
Symbol and part of the large brotherhood 
Of man and nations; one in one great love, 
True love of God, which is the love of man, 
In sacrifice and mutual service shown. 

Let kindle, as before, O Heavenly Light! 
New messengers of righteousness, and hope, 
And courage, for our day! So shall the world 
That ever, surely, climbs to thy desire 
Grow swifter toward thy purpose and intent. 



A TEMPLE OF ART 

WRITTEN FOR THE OPENING OF THE ALBRIGHT ART 
GALLERY, BUFFALO, MAY 31, 1905 



Slowly to the day the rose, 

The moon-flower suddenly to the night, 

Their mysteries of light 

In innocence unclose. 



In this garden of delight, 

This pillared temple, pure and white, 

We plant the seed of art, 

With mystic power 

To bring, or sudden or slow, the perfect flower, 

That cheers and comforts the sad human heart; 

That brings to man high thought 

From starry regions caught, 



A TEMPLE OF ART 87 

And sweet, unconscious nobleness of deed; 
So he may never lose his childhood's joyful 

creed, 
While years and sorrows to sorrows and 

years succeed. 

Ill 

Though thick the cloud that hides the unseen 

life 
Before we were and after we shall be, 
Here in this fragment of eternity; 
And heavy is the burden and the strife— 
The universe, we know, in beauty had its birth; 
The day in beauty dawns, in beauty dies, 
With intense color of the sea and skies; 
And life, for all its rapine, with beauty floods 

the earth. 
Lovely the birds, and their true song, 
Amid the murmurous leaves, the summer long. 
Whate'er the baffling power 
Sent anger and earthquake and a thousand ills,— 
It made the violet flower, 
And the wide world with breathless beauty 

thrills. 



88 A TEMPLE OF ART 



IV 



Who built the world made man 

With power to build and plan, 

A soul all loveliness to love,— 

Blossom below and lucent blue above,— 

And new unending beauty to contrive. 

He, the creature, may not make 

Beautiful beings all alive,— 

Irised moth nor mottled snake, 

The lily's splendor, 

The light of glances infinitely tender, 

Nor the day's dying glow nor flush of morn,- 

And yet his handiwork the angels shall not 

scorn, 
When he hath wrought in truth and by 

Heaven's law, 
In lowliness and awe. 
Bravely shall he labor, while from his pure 

hands 
Spring fresh wonders, spread new lands; 
Son of God, no longer child of fate, 
Like God he shall create. 



A TEMPLE OF ART 89 



When, weary ages hence, this wrong world is 

set right; 
When brotherhood is real 
And all that justice can for man is done; 
When the fair, fleeing, anguished-for ideal 
Turns actual at last; and 'neath the sun 
Man hath no human foe; 
And even the brazen sky, and storms that 

blow, 
And all the elements have friendlier proved,— 
By human wit to human uses moved,— 
Ah, still shall art endure, 
And beauty's light and lure, 
To keep man noble, and make life delight, 
Though shadows backward fall from the 

engulfing night. 

VI 

In a world of little aims, 
Sordid hopes and futile fames, 
Spirit of Beauty! high thy place 
In the fashioning of the race. 



90 A TEMPLE OF ART 

In this temple, built to thee, 
We thy worshipers would be, 
Lifting up, all undenled, 
Hearts as lowly as a child; 
Humble to be taught and led 
And on celestial manna fed; 
So to take into our lives 
Something that from heaven derives. 



THE WHITE TSAR'S PEOPLE 



PART I 

The White Tsar's people cry: 
"Thou God of the heat and the cold, 
Of storm and of lightning, 
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening; 

Hold, Lord God, hold, 
Hold thy hand lest we curse thee and die." 

The White Tsar's people pray: 
"Thou God of the South and the North, 
We are crushed, we are bleeding; 
'T is Christ, 't is thy Son interceding; 

Forth, Lord, come forth! 
Bid the slayer no longer slay." 

1 Parts I and II are here reprinted from " Five Books of Song." 
91 



92 THE WHITE TSAR'S PEOPLE 

The White Tsar's people call 
Aloud to the skies of lead: 
"We are slaves, not freemen: 

Ourselves, our children, our women- 
Dead, we are dead, 

Though we breathe, we are dead men all. 

"Blame not if we misprize thee 

Who can, but will not draw near. 
'T is thou who hast made us— 
Not thou, dread God, to upbraid us. 

Hear, Lord God, hear! 
Lest we whom thou madest despise thee." 

PART II 

Then answered the most high God, 

Lord of the heat and the cold, 
Of storm and of lightning, 
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening: 
" Bold, yea, too bold, 
Whom I wrought from the air and the clod! 

"Hast thou forgotten from me 
Are those ears so quick to hear 



THE WHITE TSAR'S PEOPLE 93 

The passion and anguish 

Of your sisters, your children who languish 

Near? Ah, not near— 
Far off by the uttermost sea! 

"Who gave ye your brains to plan— 
Your hearts to suffer and bleed? 
Why call ye on Heaven— 
'T is the earth that to you is given! 

Plead, ye may plead, 
But for man I work through man. 

"Who gave ye a voice to utter 

Your tale to the wind and the sea? 

One word well spoken 

And the iron gates are broken! 
From me, yea, from me 

The word that ye will not mutter. 

"I love not murder but ruth. 

Begone from my sight ye who take 
The knife of the coward— 
Even ye who by Heaven were dowered! 

Wake ye, O wake, 
And strike with the sword of Truth! 



94 THE WHITE TSAR'S PEOPLE 

"Fear ye lest I misprize ye— 

I who fashioned not brutes, but men. 

After the lightning 

And darkness— the dawn's red brightening! 
Men! Be ye men! 

Lest I who made ye despise ye!" 



PART III 

(January 22, 1905) 

The great word is uttered, at last! 

White Tsar! where hast thou fled? 
Thy children, heart-broken, 
To thee their sorrows have spoken! 

To thee it is said— 
That WORD on the wings of the blast! 

For the word is their fearful cry, 

And the word is their innocent blood. 

O red is the chalice 

Lifted up to thy empty palace! 
Blood, crimson blood, 

On the snows where the murdered lie! 



THE WHITE TSAR'S PEOPLE 95 

Their shed blood is the word! It is winning 
Its way swift from zone unto zone; 

Through the world it has thrilled 

And the heart of the nations stilled. 
Alone, thou alone! 

Art thou deaf to the voice and the meaning? 

Lo, it swells like the sound of the sea. 

Dull monarch! yet, yet, shalt thou hear it! 
For, once 'neath the sun 
By the brave it is spoken— all 's done! 

Hear it— and fear it; 
For "Freedom" it cries, "We are free!" 



AUG 31 130! 



